


Nice is a Four Letter Word

by imiebean



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 18:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imiebean/pseuds/imiebean
Summary: The wall push scene but Sister Mary Loquacious arrives a little bit later.





	Nice is a Four Letter Word

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while drunk at 1am and the next morning thought no one could possibly want to read this but then again I didn't write this for no one I wrote this for me.

Aziraphale was confused as they stepped out of Crowley’s 1926 Bentley. Surely this wasn’t the place. It couldn’t be. It was too…sunny and warm…almost as though… “Um, are you sure this is the right place? This…This doesn't look like a hospital.” He ventured. Crowley looked bemused. “And,” he continued “it feels loved.”

Sparing a glance around at the well-manicured lawn Crowley replied “No, it's definitely the place. What do you mean "loved"?” Aziraphale took a moment to smile. Love was one of his favorite things after all. “Well, I mean the opposite of when you say, "I don't like this place. It feels spooky".”

Crowley furrowed his brows questioningly “I don't ever say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me.” He paused for a second, turning to face his companion. “Let's go talk to some nuns.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth before they were both shot. “Ah! Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Crowley bent over, groaning some with his wound. A splash of deep red colored his fingertips.

A few seconds passed by and Aziraphale felt the shock began to wear away, yet the confusion remained. He had been shot yet he was not discorporated? How could that be? Aziraphale turned around in an attempt to locate his wound, much like a dog trying to catch its own elusive tail.

“Blue? - Oh, it's paint.” Understanding swept over him with a wave of reassurance that he had not indeed been sniped on sight by the Satanic Nuns running this hospital.

Suddenly, they were being shouted at by a main in pseudo-military gear wielding a funny looking gun, and Aziraphale became aware of the sounds of a fake battle taking place. Beneath the military getup, the man was clearly wearing some sort of suit and tie. This lead Aziraphale to believe that this man was not in fact a soldier of the battlefield but rather a soldier of the cubicle who for some reason found himself in the throes of a paintball gun fight.

”Hey! You've both been hit! I don't know what you think you're playing at right-“ The pseudo-soldier was not given the opportunity to continue his rant as Crowley decided to take matters into his own hands. Almost effortlessly he flashed his true demonic form before the middle-aged paper pusher. The color drained from the man’s skin. A mouse-like scream escaped his lips before he abruptly fainted.

Crowley, who looked rather please with himself, said “Well, that was fun.” Aziraphale, who did not share Crowley’s pleasure stated “Well, yes, fun for you.” The reassurance he had felt at not having been discorporated began to ebb away as he continued to stare at the neon blue paint marring his jacket.

“Look at the state of this coat. I've kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years now. I'll never get this stain out.” Aziraphale frowned as he continued to look at the mess upon his jacket, feeling in this moment particularly sorry for himself. “You could miracle it away.” Crowley piped in.

That wouldn’t be a very good use of his angelic powers, he thought. “Hmm. Yes, but well, I would always know the stain was there. Underneath, I mean.”

Crowley paused, a slight frown upon his lips. With the way the sun caught his sunglasses, it was hard to tell, but Crowley thought he saw a glimmer of almost-pity in his eyes. Within a flash it was gone. Crowley pursed his lips, almost as though he was going to whistle the stain away. And then, a light breeze touched Aziraphale’s shoulder as Crowley blew the paint away into nothingness.

A sunny, familiar warmth filled Aziraphale. “Oh, thank you.” Crowley didn’t choose to respond.

Moving over to the funny looking gun the man had been carrying, Aziraphale gently picked it up. “Impressive hardware. I've looked at this gun.” Crowley’s head turned from indifference to mild interest as Aziraphale continued to explain. “It's not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs.”

Crowley quickly turned and grabbed the gun from Aziraphale’s hands, as if to admire it further, before quickly aiming it at Aziraphale’s chest. “Don't your lot disapprove of guns?” He questioned, fiddling with the sight. Aziraphale took this opportunity to push the gun away, “Unless they're in the right hands.” While Crowley continued to play around with the gun, swinging it around in his hands, Aziraphale chose to continue. “Then they give weight to a moral argument.” He paused, taking in the dumbfounded look on Crowley’s face, “I think.”

Crowley’s dumbfounded look quickly bloomed into one of astonishment and glee. ”A moral argument? Really?” Throwing the gun to the ground, Crowley beamed as he began walking once again towards the hospital. “Come on. This is definitely the place.”

* * *

He had almost begun to tune out the sounds of the fake battle raging on outside the walls, until he noticed that they began to sound a lot less fake. Aziraphale’s stomach felt uneasy. He stuttered, “What-What the hell did you just do?” Crowley looked rather pleased with himself. Aziraphale’s stomach dropped further into the pit he was spiraling into. Crowley reasoned, “Well, they wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted.”

He almost couldn’t believe it. How could Crowley do such a thing? “They're murdering each other.” He stated incredulously.

Crowley looked at him again. For a brief second, maybe even just a millisecond, there was that glimmer hidden underneath his sunglasses. That whisper of sympathy. Crowley reassured him “No, they aren't. No one's killing anyone. They're all having miraculous escapes. It wouldn't be any fun otherwise.” And just as quickly as it had flashed before him, it was gone.

He couldn’t ignore it this time. The words escaped his lips before he realized. “You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice-“ “Shut it!” Crowley snatched his lapels. Aziraphale didn’t protest him forcefully pushing him against the wall. He felt it thud against his back at the same time he felt Crowley’s arms hit his chest and suddenly they were close.

“I'm a demon. I'm not nice.” With each word Crowley’s voice got quieter and darker and his body crept closer. “I'm never nice.” His breath felt hot against Aziraphale’s lips. “Nice is a four-letter word.” Their nose tips touched. “I will not have-“ Aziraphale couldn’t stand it any longer as he closed the inch distance between their lips.

He was surprised. Crowley had soft lips. They were warm and inviting, as if they had been waiting for him all this time, all 6000 years.

Crowley didn’t move, but he did loosen his grip on Aziraphale’s lapel. As Aziraphale sank to the floor, their kiss broke. Aziraphale sighed a breath out, waiting for Crowley to say something, do anything, respond in some form.

“That was- “ Crowley began to form the words, but he was interrupted by a woman walking down the hallway, and the moment was over. Crowley removed his body from its crutch against Aziraphale’s. That sinking feeling that enjoyed occupying Aziraphale’s stomach returned. Whatever had just happened, that moment, would have to be forgotten for now.


End file.
